


Mistletoe, Bro.

by VictoryCandescence



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Holidays, Love, M/M, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoryCandescence/pseuds/VictoryCandescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the end of the second week of December, the Haus is decked out in a riot of mismatched decorations – including, of course, a sprig of real mistletoe hanging at the top of the doorway into the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe, Bro.

A few days after Thanksgiving, holiday decorations start appearing in the Haus.

It isn’t an all-together thing. It happens piecemeal, between one class and the next, on free days and lazy weekend mornings. Bitty strings up shiny beads and ribbons along the bottoms of the kitchen cabinets, hangs a wreath on the door with a big Samwell-red-and-white bow on it, complete with a puck in the middle. Holster puts an electric menorah in the front window. Rans comes home to find Chowder and Nursey wrapping the bannister in a borderline irresponsible amount of multicolored Christmas lights. Bitty catches Dex come in with one of those pinchy little potted trees with a crooked red bow on top; he places it on the coffee table in the living room, and walks right back out of the Haus again. Lardo spends an afternoon laying on her belly in the Reading Room draping thick tinsel garland and big metallic plastic ornaments on the front gutter.

So by the end of the second week of December, the Haus is decked out in a riot of mismatched decorations – including, of course, a sprig of real mistletoe hanging at the top of the doorway into the kitchen.

No one knows exactly who put it there, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s Christmas, after all.

 

\---

 

“Bro,” Holster says. Ransom glances up from his notes. His second-to-last last midterm is in an hour and a half, and then he’ll have a whole two days to prepare for the last one. He feels pretty balanced, pretty confident about it, which is a big deal because usually he’s in full-on science panic mode at this point.

“Bro, c’mere.”

“Just a –”

“No, come on. You said ‘just a sec’ like, an hour ago. It’s time for a break or your brain’ll overheat during your test.”

Rans looks at Holster, poking his head and shoulders into the kitchen. Evidently Rans must not look as balanced as he feels to Holster. But putting up with his mother-henning usually yields better results than ignoring him and carrying on with his marathon cram sessions, so. He closes his binder and gets up. He ambles over to the door rubbing his eyes only to be stopped by a hand in the middle of his chest.

Rans blinks. Holster is blocking the doorway, his laptop cradled in his other arm.

“What?” Rans tries to peer around him. Usually when Holster stops him it’s because something gossip-worthy is going down in the adjacent room. But the Haus is pretty quiet for the time being. Then he realizes Holster is pointing upwards.

Rans looks. Oh – mistletoe.

Holster’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face, his blue eyes flashing mischievously behind his glasses.

“Ugh,” Rans says, sighing. “Fine. Come on.” He spreads out his arms and closes his eyes, resigned to his fate. He doesn’t have enough energy reserved to battle out of this shenanigans.

But Holster doesn’t do anything except hook his arm around Ransom’s neck, tug him forward, and land a surprisingly gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Dude,” Rans says. “What.”

“I _know_ you wanna make out with me hardcore,” Holster says obnoxiously, “But you just don’t seem up to it right now. I’ll get at you later, sweetcheeks.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Rans says, but he’s smiling so hard he can’t even hide it right now.

Holster kisses him on the forehead again. Rans lets him until he pushes his lips in harder and starts making squealy-sucky noises like a cartoon character – that’s when he shoves him away and tries to jab him in the ribs. They’re laughing like a couple of idiots, bouncing off the door jambs and out into the hallway.

“One episode of Parks and Rec and then I’ll walk to class with you?”

“Deal.”

They flop onto the couch; Holster opens up his laptop, and it’s already queued up to Ransom’s favorite episode – the one where they all get schwasted at the Snakehole Lounge. Rans always forgets how good it feels to turn his brain off for a little while after it’s been on for so long.

“Hey,” he says, somewhere in the middle of the episode, after Holster finishes laughing at the same joke he always laughs at. Holster looks over at him. “Thanks.”

Holster’s grin comes back. He leans down and pokes at the middle of his own forehead.

Rans sighs. How did this big dumb white boy become his best friend?

He leans over and plants a kiss on his head.

Holster giggles like Ron Swanson.

 

\---

 

Nursey has a plan. Chowder is in. Bits sent out a group email for dinner, and it’s chicken parm. Dex never misses chicken parm dinner. So – the plan is go.

It’s a fairly elaborate plan for what it intends to accomplish.

Whatever.

Anyway, they go to the Haus straight after class. They even help Bits with the dishes and shit. But they’re ready. Chowder keeps a lookout out the front window.

“He’s coming! Here he comes!”

Nursey glances out the window. Dex is shuffling across Jason Street, ears red from the cold, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. Nursey turns to Chowder and waves at him to get into place. Then he hits record on his phone and sets it on the counter across from the door, goes to the opposite side of where Chowder is crouched and flattens himself against the wall.

“You Frogs, I swear,” Bitty says fondly, as he pulls out plates and forks.

“Hey Bitty!” Dex calls. “Any food left?”

“Hey Dex! You’re the first one here, come an’ get it,” Bitty answers. Chowder gives him a thumbs up, and Bitty stifles a laugh with his hand.

They hear Dex dropping his bag and unzipping his coat, then they hear him walk up the hall, then –

“MISTLETOOOOOOOOOOOOE!”

“What the f–”

They launch at him in unison just as he rounds the doorframe and clasp him in a tight sandwich of a hug, then each start pecking both his ruddy cheeks with kisses at the same time.

Dex doesn’t know what to do, it seems. He can’t struggle out of their arms, and he can’t wiggle his face away from their rain of kisses. Nursey thinks for a sliver of a second his plan might have gone too far until he realizes Dex is shaking with laughter. He wheezes in a breath and suddenly lets all his weight fall forward, and Chowder and Nursey go down with him.

“You guys are idiots,” Dex says, out of breath, finally breaking free of the heap of them and scooting away across the linoleum. Bitty is in hysterics and has already taken like, a hundred pictures of the whole mess. Chowder is whooping triumphantly. Nursey gives him a double high five before jumping to his feet and helping both him and Dex stand up too.

“I didn’t even notice the damn mistletoe,” Dex says. “You’re not gonna do that every time I walk through the door, are you?”

“I mean, we could if you want,” Nursey chirps.

“No! No, please,” Dex says, but he’s trying too hard to look grumpy, and Nursey can tell he isn’t really because his shoulders aren’t all tight. “Once is enough.”

 

\---

 

“Wow Chris, the place looks great!” says Farmer.

“Yeah,” agrees Chowder. “I think the lights are my favorite. There’s a way to set them to twinkle and it looks crazy, but I don’t wanna mess with them.”

She hangs up her coat and continues to admire the Haus decorations. Someone’s taped up a cardboard Santa with poseable limbs to one of the walls, and Caitlin laughs when she sees someone else has taped a red cup to one of his hands.

“Aw, that’s adorable,” Farmer says.

“Hm?” Chowder is just finishing kicking off his sneakers and hanging up his coat, but Caitlin is already down the hall by the kitchen; she points up to the top of the door. “Oh, yeah! The mistletoe.”

“You kiss anyone under it yet?” she asks, grinning playfully as he goes over to her.

“Ha! Well, Nursey and me kiss-attacked Dex the other night. He has a video of it, it was really funny.”

Caitlin giggles. “So – no one else?”

“N-no! Not uh, for real, obviously.”

She steps sideways into the doorway. “Would you like to, for real?”

Chowder smiles very wide. “I really would. Yeah.”

Chowder likes kissing Caitlin. She’s not that short so he doesn’t have to crane his neck or anything, and her lips are always soft but not sticky, and she doesn’t care about his braces, and she does some really nice things with her hands while they are kissing. Like sometimes she brushes her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, or she presses her palm to his cheek, or runs both hands down his sides and settles them at his hips.

Sometimes, like now, she lifts his shirt up a little and hooks her fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugs a little. And he  _really_  likes that, because it means that maybe more than kissing is gonna happen.

“Chris,” she says, and his name buzzes against his own lips. His hands tighten around her waist reflexively.

“Yeah?”

“Y’wanna go up to your room?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Chowder decides that the mistletoe might be his new favorite Christmas decoration.

 

\---

 

Holiday break starts for him the week of the 20th. Shitty’d been counting down the days to each one of his exams; he was so focussed on getting through his first semester that his own birthday snuck up on him. Now, he’d plowed through a mall and got his dad some shit, his grandparents some shit, and his mom the purple vegan leather gloves he knows she wanted but couldn’t justify spending the money on herself for, and a really neat beaded necklace that reminded him of her. He bought his sister every book left on her Amazon wishlist, plus a new hardcover edition of _Fun Home_  because he remembered her saying she’d given hers away to a friend.

He’s got Lardo’s present double-baggied in a tea tin in the bottom of his overnight bag because it is fucking dank as shit. He also found a way to get THC gummi bears (thanks, hipster roomie from Colorado!) and was pleased that there were no gross pink ones. She’ll love them.

And now he’s got two days to do fuck-all until he has to beat it back to Boston.

Pulling up to the Haus is the single most cheerful thing that’s happened to him all fucking December, and then he realizes that they decorated, too (is that garland? and a _wreath_ , holy shit) and he smiles so hard it actually hurts a little.

God, he fucking missed this stupid heap.

“BITS, PIE ME YOU SHINY LITTLE FUCKER,” he bellows as he enters.

Bitty pops out of the kitchen into the hallway. “Shitty!” He launches himself at Shitty, and Shitty catches him, swings his legs out so high the kid almost goes vertical.

“The Haus looks incredible!” Shitty tells him as he sets him back down. “Was this all you?”

“Well, the wreath was. And the kitchen, obviously. But everyone did a little something! Lardo did the garland outside, and Nursey and Chowder did the lights. Dex bought the little tree in the living room, but I think he doesn’t want us to know, so don’t say anything.”

“Oho, who did THIS, huh?” Shitty asks, zeroing in on the mistletoe as they enter the kitchen. “Bits, this really takes ‘kiss the cook’ to another level.”

“It wasn’t me!” he says, blushing. “I dunno who that was.”

“Dude, I thought it was you too. What a mystery.”

He turns around and Lardo is there, and his whole body goes warm and soft when he sees her.

“Lardy-Lards!”

Shitty tackles her in a hug.

A little while later they’re all together, and he even gets to meet some of the Tadpoles, and he definitely eats way too much pie and drinks way too much spiced rum. It’s not quite tubjuice-kegster-bitchass-shitfaced, but it’s a close thing. After mostly everyone’s gone to bed, he cracks himself up singing church songs and Lardo decides it’s time for him to go the fuck to bed too. He lets her haul his ass up from the kitchen table and out toward the stairs, but when they get to the door, he needs a second to reorient because the room tilts a little under him. He leans on the doorframe, and she leans her shoulder against the wall and waits patiently for him to lift his head.

“Hey,” Shitty says. “Looka.”

Lardo looks up at where he’s pointing at the mistletoe.

“Y’know, _we_ could kiss,” he says. “I mean, it’s  _allowed_  – anyone can kiss _anyone_ , like social semantics: _fuck that,_ you know? _You_ know. But, I mean, like. We _could_.”

Lardo lifts an eyebrow at him.

“If we wanted.”

“Okay, Shits.”

“Okay,” he says, having lost his point. “I’m glad we agree.”

She laughs at him and he guesses he deserves that, he’s pretty fucking funny at this point, the mess he is. His tolerance used to be higher, he thought – or maybe it’s that he really hasn’t drank since last fucking summer, and also he hasn’t been quite this happy either.

She shoves him into his room – her room. Their room?

That’s a nice thought.

Wait. What?

“Bed,” she says. “Take off what you’re taking off and get in bed.”

As if in demonstration, she slides out of her jeans and does something inside her shirt that lets her pull her bra out through one sleeve. Shitty loses his shirt and his pants and clambers up the ladder. Lardo comes up too and crawls around a little, and then she’s snugged up next to him and he’s all warm and comfy and so is she.

“I’m happy I’m here,” he hums.

“I’m happy you’re here, too,” she says.

Shitty’s happy that she sounds happy. She doesn’t always sound happy, but she should. She should be happy all of the time, but he knows she can’t because like _no one_ is, and besides she’s an artist so she needs to be a little angsty sometimes. But Shitty should make her happy.

He hopes he does.

They fall asleep all tangled up in each other and the blankets, and Shitty’s never liked Christmas much, but if Christmas was like this – well. He could get used to it.

When he wakes up though, he’s alone.

The Haus is cold enough for him to warrant pulling on sweatpants and socks, but fuck if he’s gonna wear a damn shirt, it’s not _that_ cold.

He brushes his teeth and trudges downstairs, still feeling last night a little too much in his brain area.

He’s just beginning to wonder where Lardo is when he turns into the kitchen and bumps into her coming out. She’s got her coat and bag on, and a travel cup of coffee in hand.

And then all in a rush, what he said last night as they were standing in almost these exact same places comes flooding back.

Ah, _fuck_. Their drive back up to Boston is gonna be _great_.

“Hey, uh,” he starts.

Lardo’s eyes dart upward, then back to him.

“You got class?” he asks lamely, instead of whatever else he was gonna say.

“Nah, I just gotta clean out and lock up my studio.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Be back in a bit.” And she slides by him out the kitchen and down the hall and out the door.

Shitty walks all the way across the kitchen, and then lets his head thump against the cabinet doors a few times, silently cursing himself and letting out a groan that sounds as pathetic as he feels.

Meanwhile, Lardo pulls her hood up and hopes that she doesn’t look as blushy as she feels. That was a close one; _too_ close. Sleeping in the bed together was enough of an indulgence in her pathetic crush, and that was half by accident. She should be more careful, or she’ll wind up doing something they’ll both regret.

 

\---

 

By Tuesday the Frogs are all gone home, Rans and Holster left yesterday, and now it’s just Bitty, Lardo, Shitty and –

“Jack Zimmermann, you beautiful sneaky fucker, you!” Shitty bellows as he doesn’t even wait for Jack to get his coat off before locking him in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming up! Thought you’d be back up in the great northern tundra by now.”

“We have a game the day after Christmas,” Jack says, gently extricating himself from Shitty’s grasp. “My parents are actually coming down to visit me in Providence. And since I’m picking them up, I offered to give Bittle a ride to the airport.”

“Well ain’t you a sweetheart,” Shitty remarks.

Jack shrugs. It just made sense, is all. And he likes that he’s able to help Bittle out. Besides, it’s good to see him in person – which he hasn’t in almost three months.

When he walks in the kitchen, he wraps Lardo up in a hug, and she stays there for a while before wordlessly pulling away. Then he turns to Bittle, who is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells fantastic, as usual.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself!” Bittle’s voice is so much brighter and deeper somehow in person than it is over skype or on the phone. It startles Jack a little. He wants to hug Bittle too, but his hands are occupied with food and spoons and pot lids, so Jack thinks better of it. “I’m making quick chili with the ground beef and whatever leftover veggies I had so they don’t go to waste. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Jack says. “Smells amazing.” He’s lingering by Bittle’s shoulder. He tells himself it’s because the food really does smell delicious, but he knows it’s really because he just wants to be near Bittle. It’s comforting to be able to watch him moving around the kitchen, listen to him humming, see all the little details that he only holds in his mind when they text.

“You can sit, Jack, I’ve got it under control,” he says, hospitable as always. Or maybe he doesn’t want Jack hovering. _Yeah. Don’t be weird, Zimmermann._ He goes over to the kitchen table.

After a few minutes he picks up on something going on between Shitty and Lardo. Seperately they seem perfectly normal – Shitty’s yapping on and on about whatever, Lardo occasionally chirping out one liners and sharing looks with Jack. But they’re acting a little – _tentative_  toward each other. Maybe it’s because they haven’t been around each other for a while. Or – well. He hopes nothing bad happened between them.

But once Bittle serves up lunch, they seem more comfortable, and Jack finds himself relaxing out of a tension he didn’t know he was holding onto.

Shitty and Lardo tag-team the dishes, Shitty scrubbing and Lardo rinsing, so Jack volunteers to dry and put away while Bittle disappears upstairs to do his last-minute packing. They all say their goodbyes afterward, and Lardo gooses Shitty all the way down the front walkway because he’s notoriously late for everything, and she’s devilishly punctual. Jack wonders how they both don’t go nuts – but every good relationship is a balance, he supposes.

He’s just glad to see proof that it’s possible to still be – good together, even after being apart.

 

\---

 

“Okay! Rooms are all locked up, heat’s set, the pipe-freeze alarm is on, side door’s bolted, kitchen’s clean, garbage out, milk’s dumped, tree’s watered – what?”

Jack is smirking at Bittle.

“The Haus has been left in worse condition than this, and was still standing when we got back, you know.”

“Mr. Zimmermann, I’d like to aim a little higher than ‘still standing’ when I come back in two weeks. For heaven’s sake. Don’t you remember coming back to frost on the insides of the windows when the heat turned off? It took four days for the Haus to warm up again!”

Jack is actively trying not to laugh at Bittle’s indignation. “It’s not even that cold this year.”

“Speak for yourself, Zimmermoose.”

Jack can’t help but laugh at that. “That was awful.”

“I know,” Bittle admits, but he’s smiling. “Come on, or we’ll be late. I have to leave enough time for going through security with a potato masher and a balloon whisk in my carry-on. They always ask so many questions.”

Jack shakes his head fondly. “Is this bag ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah. Oh! I just gotta make sure the power strip is turned off in the den.”

Jack totes the bag out to his car and stows it in the trunk. Then he heads back inside to see if Bittle’s closing-up checklist has gotten longer or shorter. He peeks in the living room, through to the den, and Bittle isn’t there. Jack turns toward the kitchen and stops short, since Bittle has suddenly materialized in front of him. He actually jumps.

“Gah! There you are.”

Bittle laughs. “Sorry! Did I actually scare you?”

“A little. You’re so quick and quiet.” Jack looks up in exasperation, and his eyes catch on the mistletoe. “You know, I think you’re supposed to kiss someone under mistletoe, not give them a heart attack.”

Bittle turns red, but rolls his eyes. Jack shifts on his feet. He should move and let Bittle by. But Bittle isn’t moving either. They’re just both standing there on either side of the threshold.

“Y’know, everyone in the Haus has gotten kissed under there ‘cept me,” Bittle laments.

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jack says, and means it.

“You sound so affronted,” Bittle says. “But you didn’t either.”

“Well,” Jack says. “We can remedy that.”

Bittle’s smile fades a little. “What do you mean?”

Jack takes a step forward and reaches out, pulls Bittle under the sprig with him by the arm.

“It’s good luck, right?” Jack says. His hand is still curled around Bittle’s forearm.

“Sure, Jack.” Bittle turns his face, points at his (still very red) cheek. “Lay one on me.”

Jack leans down and places his lips on the arch of Bittle’s cheekbone. His skin is very soft, and very hot, and Jack suddenly feels self conscious of his chapped lips. He draws back.

“Wait,” Bittle says. “Come here, you too.”

Jack obediently presents his own cheek. Bittle’s lips are just as soft as the rest of his face. Maybe softer. Jack’s heart is beating weirdly, thumping hard inside his chest. Something about the atypical stillness of the Haus makes everything they do feel private, intimate.

“There,” Bittle says with finality, stepping back; but Jack’s hand doesn’t let go of Bittle’s arm. Bittle blinks up at him.

Jack swoops down and pushes his lips against Bittle’s. He feels him jolt. Jack pulls away quickly, then lets go of him and takes a step backward.

“Just making sure,” Jack says. “For good luck.”

Bittle looks a little dazed. “Right,” he says faintly, then swallows hard. “Good luck.”

But then Bittle’s face changes almost abruptly: all the softness and glow leave it, and he goes blank like it’s something he’s deliberately practiced. It’s like a window slamming shut and the curtains being whipped closed. Jack doesn’t like it at all.

“Bittle?”

“We gotta go, Jack,” he says, and pushes past him to the front door, where he hastily whirls on his coat. Jack is frozen on the spot. Bittle looks up at him without meeting his eyes. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, and makes himself move. But Bittle is already out on the porch, and then he’s slamming the front door shut and fumbling with his keys. His hands are shaking, and Jack – Jack _hates_ that.

He reaches over and clasps Bittle’s hand, keys and all, in both of his.

“Bitty, look at me.”

He does, and Jack watches his eyes roam over Jack’s worried expression. A little life comes back into his face, and Jack is fractionally relieved.

“What’s wrong?” Bitty asks, even though Jack should be asking him that.

“You’re upset,” Jack says. “I upset you.”

“No, Jack.” Bitty shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’m just –”

“No. Bitty, please. I’m sorry.”

“For what.” Bitty’s voice is doing a very good impression of Jack’s Hockey Robot Monotone.

“I wasn’t teasing you,” Jack says. “When I kissed you. If that’s what you think.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” Bittle says, shaking his hand loose from Jack’s and finally plucking out the right key. “I know you were just –”

“No, no – I mean it. I _meant_  it.”

Bitty goes still, the key still in the lock. He turns it; the bolt thunking into place is loud in the quiet late afternoon air. It’s cold enough outside that they can see their breath, but Jack’s face feels like it’s on fire. Bitty looks up at him again.

“Really?”

Jack nods. “I maybe should have been more clear.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Evidently.” There’s the twitch of a smile at the edge of Bitty’s mouth.

Jack’s heart soars. “But –”

“But?”

“I like you. Like that. A lot,” Jack adds for emphasis, and because it’s true.

Bitty looks at him a moment longer. He inches his face closer to Jack’s, careful, their eyes locked – then surges up and kisses him again, and Jack is basically helpless. All he can do is wrap his arms around Bitty and kiss him back, right there on the porch of the Haus, all dolled up for Christmas. It’s a long few minutes before Jack remembers that they really do need to get on the road soon.

They tumble down the front walk and into Jack’s car. Jack looks over at Bitty, his cheeks red, his hair a little askew. Bitty smiles back at him.

“What?” he asks.

Jack can’t keep his smile in check. He puts his face in his hands.

“I forgot my car keys on the front hall table.”

“Jack Zimmermann, I _swear!_ ”

Bitty is in hysterics as he hops out and runs back up the walkway.

They do a lot of talking on the way to the airport, and by the time they get there Jack’s face is practically aching from how much he’s been smiling. They steal one more kiss before Bitty jumps out at his terminal, and the look they share promises a lot more in the future.

Christmas that year is extra sweet, and Jack thinks that when he picks Bitty up from the airport in the new year, he already knows it’ll be his luckiest yet.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. For those who don't know: [Ron Swanson giggling.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbqur1e4mtY) Merry Christmas.
> 
> 2\. [Dex's pinchy tree.](http://www.realchristmastrees.com.au/Images/Products/Large/Potted%20Christmas%20Tree%20XS.jpg)
> 
> 3\. I started this a week ago – so boy was I happy about the dibs update last night. (!!!)
> 
> 4\. (Who _did_ put the mistletoe up?)
> 
> 5\. (It was Johnson. Who else. Why does he still have a key?)


End file.
